


checkout any time you want

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: said the night man [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, M/M, Sex, Souless!Sam, domination and submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Dean can strike the deal to get Sam's soul back, Sam runs fast and hard. He runs right into a bartender who likes Sam just as he is: souless and a little feral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	checkout any time you want

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic contains unsafe dom/sub dynamics. Sam is very much soulless here and Gabriel isn't at all nice or reformed.

It started in a little bar at the end of nowhere. There was a blood red Camaro outside and Sam has the keys to it in his pocket. It wasn’t his, of course. Just another in a long line of stolen vehicles to throw Dean off the scent. Sam didn’t enjoy being hunted. He imagined that killing Dean would probably have made many things easier, but he was a practical person. Dean was a good fighter and if he won, Sam had more to lose. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender swept in as Sam slid onto a stool. 

“Guinness.” He was trying different beers these days. No reason to stick to the old favorites without an audience to perform for. Who knew what he liked? “You serve food?” 

“Nothing worth eating.” The bartender shrugged. “But if you can wait fifteen minutes, I’ll be off my shift and I can show you a good place to chow down.” 

“Yeah?” Sam looked him over. Trim, tall, long honey colored hair. Sam had never tried a guy before, but same principle as the beer. “Sounds good.” 

Guinness was bitter, it turned out and Sam did like it. He drank it slow, watching the bartender move down the row of inebriated customers with a certain grace. There was a smirk that lingered at the edge of his smile though, something knowing and ironic. 

“You stare at me any harder and I’m going to get self-conscious.” The bartender reached for Sam’s empty glass. 

“I doubt you ever get self-conscious.” Sam didn’t let go of the glass, letting their fingers meet. “You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Don’t I?” The bartender cocked his head slightly. “What makes you say that?” 

“You asked me out on a date in the middle of hick country without batting an eyelash and I’ve got at least a few inches and at least thirty pounds on you. Could’ve ended badly.” 

“Could’ve. Didn’t.” The bartender leaned in. “Maybe I’m just a good judge of character.” 

“Maybe.” Sam allowed. “So where are you taking me?” 

“Guess you’ll have to follow and find out.” 

It wasn’t a challenge to follow the sauntering, seductive walk three blocks down and into a dimly lit restaurant. The floor was sticky and the music twangy, but the scent of charred meat was rich in the air, layered thick with sweet sauce. 

“I recommend the ribs.” The bartender took a booth near the back, shadowing them away from the rest of the crowd. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam scanned over the sticky menu. When he looked back up it was to the bartender staring at him intently. “Returning the favor?” 

“With interest. You know. You haven’t asked my name.” 

“I’m not going to be in town long.” Sam shrugged. “Do names matter?” 

“No, I suppose they don’t.” The bartender’s eyes widened subtly. “You’re an honest man.” 

“Don’t see the need to lie.” Sam signaled the waitress, too old to be of any interest to him, and ordered the ribs. The bartender just grinned toothily, 

“The regular, sweetheart.” Once she was gone, he asked, “So where are you headed? This town isn’t really on the way to anywhere.” 

“Nowhere in particular. Guess you could say I’m seeing the country.” 

“I don’t think I’d say that.” The bartender leaned back, arms spread wide over the back of the booth. “You don’t look like a man taking in the sights, beyond yours truly.” 

“What do I look like then?” 

“Not sure yet. You know, at first you reminded me of someone I once knew, but I was wrong.” 

“Yeah?” Sam watched him carefully. He couldn’t remember ever coming through here before and his access to old memories was excellent. Probably just small talk. “High school boyfriend?” 

“Hardly.” The bartender snorted. “Anyway, I was wrong like I said. And since you want to play mysterious stranger that cuts down on a lot of small talk.” 

“Not that mysterious. Just not a lot to know.” 

“Now that was a lie.” The bartender accused. 

“How do you know?” 

“Man with gun callouses on his right hand and that wicked scar on the left? There are stories there and not simple ones.” 

“I hunt. Sometimes I make mistakes.” Sam shrugged. 

“Ah, so it’s a hunting trip you’re on then? Because there is game in the woods, I’ve heard. Never tried it myself.” 

“I’m not hunting now.” 

“No? Huh.” The bartender’s smile returned, the smirk still lingering. “So a hunter seeing the country without a plan on killing anything? So what is it? Soul searching?” 

“Something like that.” Sam put on a smile to match. He knew about mirroring now. Smile when they smile, laugh when they laugh. It was easy enough. “What about you?” 

“What about me? Just a small town boy, slinging beers for ready cash and waiting.” 

“Waiting for what?” 

“Hm. The end, I guess.” 

“End of what?” 

“Everything. Bound to happen sooner or later, don’t you think?” The bartender winked as if it was their little secret. 

“So what...religious freak or conspiracy nut?” 

“Neither.” There was no offense on the man’s face. If anything, he looked gleeful. For the first time, Sam got the sense that they were playing a game. Though he didn’t know the rules or the stakes, Sam liked it. “Well. You could argue religious. I was raised up that way, but these days it’s more like a cynical sense inevitability.” 

“I can get behind that.” 

“I thought you might.” 

The waitress came out with two broad platters of ribs, corn on the cob and baked beans. Sam ate with a certain single mindedness. He never lost awareness of his surroundings, but he might have relaxed his guard a little. He liked filling his stomach, licking sauce off his fingertips. 

“Good?” The bartender asked when Sam had stripped the meat from half of his plate. 

“Yes.” Sam drank down half a glass of water. 

“Beefy guy like you, I’d think you’d be more health conscious.” 

“I burn a lot of calories.” Sam added a little bit of sultry promise into his voice. 

“So you need good fuel to run that machine.” 

“Not a machine.” He said mildly. “Body is more unreliable than a machine.” 

“But much more fun, don’t you think?” 

They finished the meal in silence with the sexual tension ratcheting up with every passing breath. Sam’s mind was no longer on his food. There were other appetites that needed feeding, after all. When the bill came, the bartender slid two bills underneath it and slid out of the booth. He held one hand out for Sam. 

“You got a place to stay in town?” 

Sam took the offer, letting the bartender make a cursory tug as if helping him up. 

“Just got in.” 

“Should show you some local hospitality then. How about you come to mine?” 

“Depends. You got a bed for me?” 

“Oh, I think I can manage something.” 

They walked back to the bar, but went around the back. The bartender fished a ring of keys from his pocket, sliding one home into a heavy metal door. Sam cased the alley, looked for windows and found a fire escape. Satisfied that he had multiple exit points, he followed the bartender up creaking wood steps into a surprisingly large studio apartment. Three skylights pulled the last of day’s sun inside and soaked warm wood and the large bed in light. 

“Nice place.” Sam lingered over the bannister, the wood heavy and smooth under his palm.There was a familiar scent to the air, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was good though. Something like cotton candy with a hard burnt edge. 

“It keeps the rain off.” The bartender shrugged off his jacket. “You want something to drink?” 

“I’m good.” Sam removed his coat, hanging it on the bannister. 

“Why don’t I show you the bed then?” 

“I think I’ve figured it out on my own.” 

He usually shortened his stride, went a little slower and more carefully. Didn’t want to spook the normals, didn’t want to be caught out as wrong. But this man wouldn’t care. Sam knew it. He crossed the floor in three wide steps, grabbing the bartender by his arms and bending in for a searing kiss. 

The bartender responded beautifully. He bit into Sam’s lip and then jumped up, counting on Sam to catch him. They made out wet and heated against the wall. It was different from women though Sam had a feeling this man was different from most men too. This man met his hunger measure for measure. There was blood on Sam’s lips when he finally pulled back and he couldn’t say who it belonged to. 

The bartender licked the blood of his own lips, tiny kitten licks and molten lust in his eyes. Sam carried him to the bed and took great satisfaction in throwing him against the mattress. The bartender’s legs spread wide and inviting, even as he unbuttoned his shirt. Sam took care of his own clothes, stripping with efficiency the layers that old Sam liked to pile on. 

“Nice.” The bartender looked him over slowly. “Very nice.” 

“You going to keep those pants on?” 

“Make me a convincing argument for their removal.” 

Sam leaned down, teeth scraping over the pale skin of the bartender’s chest. He went down and down until he reached the noticeable bulge in the black slacks. He had never sucked a cock before, but he figured it couldn’t be that hard. Mouthing through the fabric, he heard the bartender’s soft gasp and then the quick play of fingers over zipper. Sam dragged pants and underwear off. 

He studied the half-hard cock with interest. Old Sam had been strictly heterosexual. Boring in his adherence to it. Now, Sam licked a curious stripe upward and found the salty taste to his liking. Bracing his hands on widespread thighs, he took his time exploring and deciding what worked and what didn’t. He liked being efficient, being good at whatever it was he did. This proved easier than most things. Heat and suction applied at the right force and the bartender’s hands were winding fingers into his hair. The tug was hard and Sam groaned around hard flesh. 

“You like that?” The hands tightened and Sam shivered in delight. They were still playing, but now Sam knew the rules. He pulled off to grab at the bartender’s wrists, pinning them to the bed. “That a no?” 

“Oh, I like it. Bet you’d enjoy it more though.” 

“Think so?” In one sharp movement, the bartender broke free. His legs were around Sam’s waist again and with one casual roll of his hips, their positions were reversed. Sam stared up at him, a little stunned and hard as a rock. “You know what I think?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Sam lied bucking upwards. 

“Sure you do.” The bartender’s smirk gained full life, all pretense of a smile gone. “I think you’re a wolf that’s misplaced it’s pack. A hunter on his own and getting leaner every day. I think you want someone to take you in and put you in your place.” 

“I’m not an animal.” 

“Not an animal. Not a machine. But you’re not quite a man either are you?” The bartender ground down onto Sam’s cock. “What does that make you?” 

“Who are you?” Sam growled, digging his fingers into the bartender’s thighs. 

“Thought you said no names.” The bartender threw back his head, hands over Sam’s as if to encourage him on. Sam dug in deeper, hard enough to bruise. 

“I like to know the name of the thing I have to kill.” 

“Hard words. But I’m not your enemy.” The bartender took Sam’s wrists as if Sam had no strength at all and pinned them easily over Sam’s head. Their bodies were pressed against each other, the rich smell of burnt sugar singeing Sam’s nose. “In fact, we could make very interesting allies, you and I.” 

“I don’t need an ally.” 

“No?” A swivel of hips and Sam had to gulp back an ugly moan. The urge to kill and the urge to fuck warred in him. “Everyone needs someone in their corner. I learned that the hard way. A partner in crime, if you will.” 

“I wasn’t planning on committing a crime tonight and I’ll be gone in the morning.” 

“Too bad.” Transferring the hold of Sam’s wrists to one hand, the bartender reached out of sight and came back with a tube of slick, fingers wet with it. “You’d be good at it.” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who are you?” The bartender challenged and then poised himself, releasing Sam’s wrists just as he took him into his body. 

“Fuck.” Sam lashed out, prepared to fight, but wound up gripping the bartender’s hips. The tight heat felt too good to withdraw from. 

“You need someone.” In the fading sunlight, the bartender’s eyes gleamed gold. “Because alone you make foolish mistakes. You think you can fight your way out of anything, punch and bite. But there’s more to survival than brawn.” 

“I’m clever.” 

“Not clever enough. Said the spider to the fly.” Grinding down, the bartender’s smirk melted into slack pleasure. 

“Wolf, fly. Make up your mind.” Sam planted his feet on the bed and used the new leverage to set a demanding pace. He fucked like he always wanted to, but couldn’t lest he leave a body instead of a satisfied lover behind. 

The bartender rode it as if it were the tenderest lovemaking. Obscene moan after moan poured from his throat. Sam’s breath came fast and hard. The rich smell of creme brulee saturated everything, muddled with the thick scent of sweat and precome. 

“Christ.” Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head, the orgasm clicking all the pieces into place. “Gabriel!” 

“And here I thought you might have forgotten me.” Gabriel didn’t let up, riding Sam hard until he came with a full body shudder. The illusion fell away, leaving a naked archangel straddling Sam’s hips and semen spread liberally between them. 

“You’re dead.” 

“And yet.” Gabriel spread out his arms. “Ta-dah.” 

“How?” 

“I’d guess dear old Dad, but it could have been any number of deities great and small. I had a few friends in high places, once upon a time.” Gabriel shrugged. “What about you, kid? What climbed down deep and ate up your insides?” 

“Nothing.” There was no holy oil for miles. Sam didn’t have a weapon at hand and he couldn’t take Gabriel in a hand to hand fight. His only option was to play whatever game Gabriel offered up until he found an exit. “The guy that used to wear this body didn’t make it out of the Cage.” 

“Went down with the ship, huh?” Gabriel shook his head slow. “I heard, whispers and gossip. Michael and Lucifer. Bloodless victory for the good guys unless you count poor Sam Winchester. So if his soul is down there still, what are you?” 

“Whatever’s left.” He stared up through the skylight at the first stars twinkling through. “They want to stuff it back in me. Make me him again.” 

“But you ran. Are running.” Gabriel’s eyes looked just like a cat’s in the dark, shining gold and reflective. “The hunter hunted.” 

“I’m alive. I’m a person. They put it back in me and...I’m dead.” Sam frowned. “I don’t want to die.” 

“No one does.” Gabriel rolled off Sam, landing at his side. “So what’s your solution? Run until they find you? Not much of a life.” 

“I’m better at running than they are at chasing.” 

“Are you? For how long? I ran for five thousand years, but you know what? Eventually the track runs out, kid. And once it’s gone...” 

“I don’t want to die.” Sam repeated, calmly. “I’ll do what I have to do.” 

“If you make it, big if here, if you get somewhere safe and you know you don’t have to run anymore. What then?” 

“I’ll hunt.” He said immediately. Then he actually thought about it. Would he? It’s what he knew. What he was good at. 

“Why? To help people?” Gabriel scoffed. “You don’t like people. I’m surprised you can hold a conversation, actually. The soulless tend to be a lot more....drool-y generally.” 

“I’m not a zombie.” Sam sniffed. “I’m just...me. And I’m good at killing things. Unnatural things.” 

“And a human or two here or there, I’m sure.” 

“If they got in the way of what needed to get done. I don’t enjoy it.” 

“What do you enjoy?” 

“Food. Sex. Killing what needs to be killed.” 

“How do you decide what needs killing?” 

“Why are we playing twenty questions?” Sam sat up, reached for the edge of the sheet to wipe the spunk off his stomach. “What the fuck does it matter? Bad things. What goes bump in the night.” 

“You’re a bloodhound. You need a master.” Gabriel didn’t sit up, only rolled onto his back belly exposed and flaccid cock resting on one thigh. Powerful enough to enjoy the vulnerable position. “I’m good at finding targets. But I have to admit, my abilities these days....well. More angelic than Trickster. Whoever brought me back wanted me humbled a bit.” 

“So I could kill you?” 

“You could try.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows as if Sam had proposed something lewd. “Could be fun.” 

“I don’t want a master.” 

“No?” Gabriel lashed out at once, pulling hard on Sam’s hair and throwing him to his knees on the floor. “You don’t want someone to guide your strength, to keep your bed warm for when you come back covered in gore, someone to tell you to heel, someone who understands exactly what you are?” 

“What am I then?” 

Gabriel’s hand dropped to the back of Sam’s neck, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. Something tight snapped in Sam’s chest and his whole body relaxed. 

“As of right now?” Gabriel crouched down, tipped Sam’s chin up enough to catch his eyes. They stared at each other, unblinking for a long heaving minute. “You’re mine.” 

“No.” Sam licked his lips. “I don’t...I won’t....” 

“There’s a pack of werewolves north of here. Three hours in a drive, but I have faster ways to travel. I’ll take you there. We can run them down together.” Gabriel licked his lips and Sam could see the last few drying flecks of blood clinging to them. “I will hunt with you through the forests and I will bring you back home.” 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“This.” Gabriel waved his free hand at the studio. “Or somewhere else. I don’t care. But if you’re mine, then you have a home with me. I will take care of you, keep you in food and sex and targets.” 

“What do you get in return?” Because they’re playing, Sam knew now. Playing a game that he liked. 

He liked a lot of things. Without a soul he should be a drooling idiot or a merciless machine or a mindless animal. Sam was none of those things. He liked dark beer, ribs and Gabriel’s hand on his neck. He liked to hunt and eat and fuck. He liked to play. 

“I get you.” Gabriel said solemnly. “Every piece of you.”

“I’ll never love you.” Because honesty was working for them. “I’m not capable.” 

“No?” Gabriel shrugged. “In theory I’m made of God’s love, so between the two of us we can sort it out.” 

“What if I don’t want to follow one of your orders?” 

“We’ll talk about it. If I think your reasoning is sound, I’ll let it pass. Otherwise, you do it anyway.” The grip on his neck tightened fractionally. “Or you’ll be punished.” 

“I can take a beating.” 

“Good thing I’m not partial to giving them.” The hold relaxed again. “So what do you say, Sam?” 

He stared at Gabriel, sifting through memories of idle cruelty. But had it really been idle? Every time Gabriel engaged him and Dean, it had been with a lesson in mind. He played a long game and he was good at it. He knew how to stay alive. Not to mention he had good taste and fucked like he had nothing to lose. Gabriel could live up to his promises. And if he didn’t, then Sam could find a way to kill him. 

With all that on the table, the decision was easy. 

“My name isn’t Sam.” 

“No?” Gabriel’s smile was a slow thing, a curve of teeth of teeth and mischief. “What is it then?” 

“Whatever you want it to be.” 

“Good.” Gabriel’s laugh cascaded over Sam’s skin, made him smile in return without any thought or mimicry. “I name you Heylel.” 

“Heylel.” He repeated. 

“I don’t know what brought you here.” Gabriel leaned forward until their foreheads touched, their mouths ghosted one over the other. “But I’m happy it did.” 

“Yes.” Heylel closed his eyes, the burnt sugar scent impressing itself into his skin. A new warmth unfolded in his stomach. The word fit. “I’m happy too.”


End file.
